Nightmares
by Memory the Phoenix
Summary: He may have escaped them while he sleeps, but they always find him. Slight UraharaxIshida


He remembered the first time he had seen a hollow. It had been chasing a ghost, and was slowly catching up with every second that passed. He could hear the ghost's screams and cries for help, see it stumble and quickly pick itself back up and carry on running, desperate to get away. He could recollect clearly the tense moment when the Hollow stopped in it's tracks, sniffing the air as if in search for new prey. He had stood still, like a deer caught in the headlights, as the hollow's eyes passed over him, holding his breath and only dared to move or breathe after the hollow had slowly turned away and crawled off.

He had ran that night, in his dreams, ran for his life, chased by a shadowy monster. He never dared to look behind, the roars constantly followed him, the ominous rumble growing closer. He could only pray, and repeat like a mantra in his head, "don't trip, don't trip, please don't trip". But eventually, inevitably, he stumbled and fell, and the monster struck.

He woke up crying, panting and trying to catch his breath. He could always remember the feeling of being hunted.

Soon after they had started, his grandfather had started to teach and nurture his Quincy skills, and the shadowy monster that chased him in his nightmares disappeared and were vanquished in a burst of bright, blue light.

He had stopped running then.

When he was a little older, he found himself struggling for breath again, hiding from the Hollows that had slaughtered his grandfather and, even worse, the shinigami that had followed it.

His dreams replayed it over and over again, he was hiding again, constantly praying again, always holding his breath and trying to be as quiet as possible. He remained there throughout the night, spending every second waiting in fear, waiting to be found, and then ...

Then he had found himself fighting alongside Kurosaki Ichigo, a shinigami, and others, and found he had less to fear.

There was still a threat, but he didn't have to hide any more.

The nightmares started again after going to Seireitei, the encounter with the twelfth captain had left it's mark, the legacy of the Quincy fully revealed with a brutal picture.

In his nightmares there was nowhere to run, and nowhere to hide. There wasn't anything from which to run, nothing to hide from. He was just forced to walk, through sterile, white, tiled corridors that were littered with the bodies of the dead. The dark, dried blood that was smeared along the floors contrasted greatly to the searing fluorescent lights that buzzed overhead. The smell ranged from the putrid smell of rotting flesh, or the pungent smell of disinfectant. Both were overwhelming. He had to keep walking, passing the dead bodies of his ancestors, torn apart and jumbled around, dumped on the tiles. He never knew what awaited him. Was it to lie, like this?

The nightmare had faded as he regained his power, enabling him to swear that bastard would pay for what he had done, and that it would never happen to him.

Though it seemed, he was fearing the future less, but was being bogged down by the past.

Especially with him.

His relationship with the shinigami shop owner had strangely blossomed from nowhere. At some point, he had re-implemented himself with the group, despite his father's wishes. They had taken some well needed rest after a hard battle, readying themselves for the next. He still suffered from them then, and had found himself awake, staring at the moon, which itself had been swallowed by a shadow, the rusty red rock still visible.

"Pretty, ne? But what brings you out here Ishida-kun?" Urahara had asked, taking a seat next to him. "Its a little late, isn't it?"

He had been honest, complaining of being unable to sleep. Urahara had seemed concerned, inquiring further. The subject of nightmares came up, and although not delved in deeply, the fact had prompted Urahara to suddenly embrace him. He remembers a joke about a lullaby before drifting off to sleep.

He remembers warmth.

For some reason, it hadn't lasted, the warmth had been lost in the nightmares. Those hands became so cold. It was just him, just him, but he couldn't forget it. The small doubts and fears that had been born from his dreams, emerged. What else had those hands done? Had they experimented on his ancestors? Had he caused them pain , mutilation, leaving them wishing for death?

It made him retch as those same hands trailed over his body, tracing his every outline, researching every contour. He imagined them as searing, biting knives,cutting through him. Had he done that, would he do that?

He knew it wouldn't happen, but still his fears played tricks with him. Still the past cast chains around him.

He had started crying as Urahara entered him. It was supposed to be so welcoming, so fulfilling as they moved together, it had been. But that warmth had been stolen by his dreams. Even as the shinigami kissed his tears away, he couldn't chase the fears away.

He may have vanquished his nightmares, but they always found him, in that man's bed.


End file.
